


Friday Night in the Black Swan

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [127]
Category: Primeval
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 19:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19115950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: The waiting is the hardest part of having a special forces boyfriend.





	Friday Night in the Black Swan

“Coming for a drink tonight, Abs?” Connor hovered in the doorway of her office, looking hopeful.

She smiled at him but shook her head. “Not tonight, Conn. Just a bit tired.”

“But it’s Friday night, we always go out on Fridays. Cutter says he’s buying. You can’t miss that.”

Cutter bought drinks for them most Fridays but Connor still had a student’s mentality when it came to free drinks, and he clearly enjoyed the easy camaraderie that surrounded the team, so Friday nights had become a fixture on the calendar where he was concerned. He hero-worshipped Cutter, looked up to Stephen like a brother, and was even almost relaxed in Lester’s company now. The soldiers were fiercely protective of Coonor and some of their girlfriends had a tendency to mother him.

Abby’s phone pinged. She looked at the screen and a smile quirked her lips. Speaking of girlfriends…

In pub. Don’t you dare duck out. Cara xx

She rolled her eyes.

I’ll hunt you down…

“Come on, Abs…”

“You’re wheedling, Conn.”

He sat down and crossed one leg over his knee. “Not leaving without you.”

“It’s a conspiracy. I’m fine, honestly. I’d say if I wasn’t.” But the truth was she was anything but fine, and the whole world probably knew it. Joel had been gone two months now and she was scared stiff. No matter how much the others tried to reassure her, Abby knew that their words were nothing more than empty platitudes. Her boyfriend was off on a mission somewhere, and nothing anyone said could convince her that he’d be all right. Abby had watched plenty of other people on the team go through a similar period of waiting and worrying and she’d said the same things to them. He’ll be all right. No news is good news. Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.

Counting to 100 then coming, ready or not.

Abby closed her computer down. “I’m not going to get any peace, am I?”

Connor grinned at her. “Nope.”

She picked up her phone and swiped a quick text to Cara: G&T please.

The team’s usual hang out was the Black Swan, five minutes’ walk from the ARC’s main gates. The landlord and his wife were both ex-coppers and knew enough not to ask awkward questions about the mis-matched civilians and the obviously military types that hung out with them. The pub was large, there were no huge TV screens playing endless football matches and it did a great plate of chips. The locals were a pretty protective bunch and had lived near a Government facility long enough not to feel the need to ask questions about what went on behind the tall perimeter fences. The occasional reporters who sometimes came sniffing around in the hope of a story were quickly frozen out, or sometimes fed a few tall stories, depending on boredom levels in the bar.

By the time Abby and Connor reached the pub, there was a large gin and tonic and a pint of beer waiting for them on one of tables that had been dragged together into a small, beer-stained archipelago. Cara smiled as she saw Abby walk into the bar and jumped up to give her a hug. The slender young woman had an artist’s perception of what lay beneath the surface, and Abby had long since stopped trying to hide anything from her.

“Got to take advantage of getting a babysitter,” Cara said, as she at back down, patting the seat next to her.

Kermit was on duty at the Forest of Dean anomaly. It had chosen that week to start flickering in and out like a faulty Christmas tree, but Cara – clearly determined that Abby shouldn’t be left on her own to worry – had still joined the team for the now traditional get-together to celebrate another week of successfully keeping the existence of the anomalies from an unsuspecting public.

From Abby’s point of view, apart from not knowing if her boyfriend was alive or dead, it had been a good week. They’d successfully contained two anomaly incidents, one in mid-Wales that had involved chasing a couple of extremely irritable deinonychus up hill and down dale. They’d finally been able to capture them alive with the aid of a phlegmatic shepherd and a pair of bemused but enthusiastic Border collies. Joel would have enjoyed watching the dogs at work. It reminded her of the duck herding competitions she’d seen at some of the county shows, but the Indian runner ducks were less lethal than their prehistoric cousins, even if they weren’t much more biddable.

The other incident concerned a small ankylosaur that had wreaked havoc amongst the greenhouses in an allotment just outside Hazelmere. Naturally, Claudia had spun a convincing story involving local vandalism. Any week that didn’t involve dead creatures and dead people was a week she counted as a success.

The conversation flowed around her, with plenty of easy banter between the science team and the off-duty soldiers. Stephen, leaning against Ryan’s shoulder looking relaxed, was arguing with Cutter about some obscure point about dinosaur trackways, while Ryan was talking to Claudia. Abby wasn’t near enough to listen, but she could see that their normally reserved captain was looking positively animated about something.

Abby appreciated the fact that none of them asked whether she’d heard anything from Joel. They all knew she hadn’t, and she was glad that none of them felt the need to jump in with empty words. She did her best to smile and join in the conversation, but her heart wasn’t in it and they all knew it. The long wait for news had worn her nerves to shreds and she’d been left wondering how the hell the others managed to go through this sort of separation on a regular basis. But they all coped. Even the fragile-looking Cara had proved time and time again that she had nerves of steel. Abby still remembered the time that Kermit – who she had barely even known back then – had been lost on the wrong side of an anomaly. They’d all believed their chances of seeing the young soldier alive had been negligible, but they’d been proved wrong.

Several baskets of chips arrived on the table and in the scrum for food, Abby found some respite from the nagging worry that she’d not been able to put aside for weeks. Simple, everyday things helped, as did the friendship of those around her, particularly Connor. She’d wondered at first how he would take to her relationship with Joel Stringer, but he’d been fine, still showing her the same shy, awkward friendship that he’d offered right at the beginning. She knew he’d had a crush on her when they’d first started to work together and at that time she’s had a bit of a crush on Stephen, before the realisation dawned that he and the ever-competent Captain Ryan were more than just good friends. Sure, Connor had irritated her at times, especially when he’d foisted himself on her as a flatmate, but she’d quickly realised there was no malice in him.

The chips didn’t last long and by the time they’d all stuffed a few carbohydrates down their throats, Abby was feeling more relaxed. A couple of large gins had helped, as well, as had Cara’s quiet but supportive presence at her side. They’d laughed over the story of the sheepdogs and Abby had listened while Cara had let off steam about the problem she’d had trying to explain to a bunch of disinterested teenagers why their five year old kid brothers or sisters couldn’t paint something that would get hung in the Tate Modern.

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lorraine Wickes commented. “I went there with Niall a couple of weeks ago. He spent the whole time reading the labels aloud and demanding to know who wrote that crap.”

“Well, it was crap,” Blade said, helping himself to one of the bags of crisps that Ryan had just thrown on the table. “What the hell was the point of those green splodges on a purple background?”

“The artist’s use of colour is both bold and imaginative,” Lorraine intoned in a mock-serious tone. “The purple represents the great existential questions of life and the green symbolises the despair inherent in the human condition.”

“You’re making that up!” Connor said, eyes wide.

“She’s not,” Cara said. “Personally, I think someone had mixed up a few of the labels.”

“It was a load of bollocks,” Blade said.

Lorraine executed one of her perfect eye-rolls. “As I said, everyone’s a critic.”

“My turn to choose next time we do culture,” her boyfriend said.

“I’m not convinced the Imperial War Museum counts as culture.”

“History and culture. That’s what we agreed.”

“Darren once took me to the Pencil Museum when we were on holiday in the Lakes,” Cara commented.

Blade grinned. “Classy.”

Finn, sitting opposite her, facing the door, suddenly sat up straighter, a look of surprise crossing his face, quickly replaced by a big grin. He glanced over at the bar and yelled to Fiver who’d been sent to get the next round of drinks, “Get another beer in, mate!”

Abby swivelled in her seat so fast that she almost slopped what was left of her drink into Cara’s lap.

Standing just inside the door of the pub, Captain Joel Stringer gave her a tired smile. He was wearing an open-necked shirt over a pair of faded black jeans. His hair was shorter than usual but he looked like he hadn’t shaved in at least a couple of weeks. He was more tanned than when she’d last seen him and the bruised skin on his right cheek was held together by butterfly strips.

Her hand shook and Cara deftly removed the glass from her. “He’s OK, Abby,” Cara said quietly. “He’s on his feet and he’s smiling. Just don’t expect him to tell you what happened. They never do, and it’s hard. Just be there for him. And remember that the rest of us are always here for you.”

Abby hesitated, not knowing how to react, as Joel walked over to her, then she felt Cara’s elbow in her side and she jumped up, throwing her arms around him and burying her face against his chest. “Are you OK?” she mumbled.

“I am now,” he said, his arms tightening around her. “I came here straight from base. Sorry I didn’t phone. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be in de-brief, and the head shed throws a hissy fit if we start ringing round before they’ve finished with us.”

“Beer, boss,” Fiver said.

Joel unwound one arm from around her and accepted the drink. “Better get another one in, mate, this isn’t going to last long.” At the look on Fiver’s face he laughed and said, “You’re as tight as a fucking ferret’s fanny!”

“It’s the prof’s round next,” Fiver said.

“Looks like I arrived back at just the right time.

There was a certain amount of shuffling around and a couple of chairs appeared. Abby sat down, staying as close to Joel as she could, revelling in the solid warmth of his body next to hers.

He was back.


End file.
